


Summer's gone

by derenai



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derenai/pseuds/derenai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the 2012 Olympic Games, David avoids reality and spend most of his time reading. So much he starts to lose everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer's gone

David was alone in his reading room, comfortably installed in an armchair, a thick volume on his lap, surrounded by his bookshelves. He had recently begun reading eBooks in order to make his luggage a bit lighter, however that didn't prevent him bringing back several paper books every time he saw a bookshop. He couldn't help it, he loved their smell, the promises of adventure and escape that their titles whispered, their weight in his hands. This room was his favourite one in his house. However, since he had come back from New-York, he spent too much time in it, too much time buried in his reading, even for his standards. He was neglecting everything else except training. To such an extent that the house was empty now. Marta had left, taking the cats with her.

She had always understood his need for solitude, for time to read. Since he had come back from New-York, though, it had become too much. She felt neglected. She had tried to understand why he needed to live another life through the pages, why it was suddenly the only thing that mattered but he couldn't explain to her. So she had given him an ultimatum. He was ashamed, though he had changed a thing. She had left, he knew she was right. Now he had one more reason to escape reality. And every time he closed his book, he felt weaker, sadder. He had needed some time to understand. Now he knew. He was missing London.

The Olympics had been a parenthesis in his life. Not only because of the unique atmosphere. Not only because he had hoped until the very end to win a medal he had never dreamed of before. But because he had shared this experience with Feliciano. Because they had lived together, trained together, fought together. Because he had discovered some of his friend's sides that he hadn't known before. And he knew he wouldn't have gotten so far in the tournament with another partner. The way Feliciano had encouraged and supported him, on and off court, had strongly helped him. And deeply touched him. He had found a confident to whom he had said things he had never dared to talk about before. He had found a friend with whom he could relax during his free time. After that, there had been their defeat and the way how, despite his own disappointment, Feliciano had prevented regrets from setting in and chased away the pain, the feeling of being weak and useless. And then, that night when Feliciano had made him forget everything.

When he had come back home, his house had felt cold. Unconsciously, he had become distant with Marta. Yet he hadn't understood. He had thought the emptiness that was gnawing him was the remains of his disappointment.  That it would go away with time and matches. When he had seen Feliciano again, he had acted like nothing had ever happened between them because that night was meaningless, only a way of getting rid of their frustration. Then he had accepted that what he was feeling had nothing to do with their defeat. And he had continued to act as if nothing had happened because he was scared. So the emptiness was still there.

David came to the bottom of the last page and put the book on the table. He felt that little moment of wavering during which he was still in the world he had just closed, not totally conscious yet of the reality that surrounded him. It didn't last. The emptiness, the solitude caught up on him. He closed his eyes, holding back his tears and realized he couldn't continue this way. He had to stop fleeing. With a knot in his stomach, he took his phone. He wished that he had the talent of the authors he read, that he could find the right words to make Feliciano understand without frightening him. He wasn’t like them, though, so after a few minutes of thought, he decided for simplicity.

_I miss you._

  



End file.
